


Celeb/OC Fanfics

by dammit_jack



Series: Celeb/OC Fanfics [1]
Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Chris Pine - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Zachary Quinto - Fandom
Genre: A lot of kissing, Gay Stuff, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Sexuality Stuff, Swearing, general fluffiness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dammit_jack/pseuds/dammit_jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one is about Zachary Quinto, and how you (male character) kissed him in the grossest part of town on your way home from Uni.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kissing Zachary Quinto (ZQ/OMC)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm planning on taking a bunch of requests so if you want one, I'd love to write it. I can write any relationship as well. You know, F/M, M/M, pairings with three or more people.
> 
> This one is obviously Zachary Quinto, because I love him. Who better to start with, after all?

 

Walking home this late with a bag this heavy just begs terrible thoughts to appear in your mind. Every shadow is someone with a crack addiction and a knife, every sound is an attack to your alerted senses. Luckily you have your phone, though it has thirteen percent battery left. You shut it off and preserve the battery for emergencies only. The most likely emergency being getting mugged. It’s getting darker than you’d expect, and fast too, and a cat meows suddenly behind you then scatters some rubbish bins and leaps across the thin side street. You lick your lips and try to look a bit smaller so no-one harms you too badly, then a voice sounds to your left.

 

“Hey!” It says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You whirl around and look to the figure, and see it’s a clean looking man with dark hair and a nice shirt on. He looks like he’s hiding. You swallow and try to reply, but all that comes out is a wheezy sound and a whimper. The guy seems more worried for himself though, pressed up against the cold brick of a run-down apartment. He looks to you then smirks, “Is anyone else in the street? I was being chased.”

 

You narrow your eyes at him and look down the street momentarily. No-one there. Is that good or bad? Maybe this guy is just a well-dressed junkie. He doesn’t look it though. Actually, the more you look the more familiar he seems. Who is this guy?

 

“No-one here except me.” You say in a slightly deeper voice. Like that’ll do much good, but what else is there to do to intimidate him? He doesn’t look affected by your voice, but he does push off the wall and hold out his hand for you. You take it, and shake while keeping a bit of distance between the both of you.

 

“Sorry if I scared you.” He sighed with a worried expression still planted on his face, “My name is Zach, you mind if I walk with you?” He releases your hand and gestures down the street. You walk, and he keeps up to your left. At least you have a slightly taller, more imposing guy on your side now. But still… where the hell have you seen this guy before?

 

Then it hits you. You know where you’ve seen him. American Horror Story, the crazy gay guy then the homicidal doctor dude. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as scary or druggy as previously thought, but it still doesn’t stop your hands from shaking out of nervousness. The hat and glasses obviously didn’t help him if he was hiding, and you smirk at the disguise. He looks up to the sky and closes his eyes for a second or two.

 

“You’re Zachary Quinto.” You say. He looks over to you then nods curtly, “Figures I’d meet a celebrity I like when I’m in my worst outfit, and in the worst part of town.”

 

He chuckled, then shakes his head. He tells you what you’re wearing is fine, and that it can never be any worse than what he’s had to wear in the past. You tell him it’s your ‘I don’t care because it’s finals time’ outfit, and he chuckles. Surprisingly, there’s no awkward conversation. After all, you think, he is just another person. A very handsome person that is on TV a lot. But a person, nonetheless.

 

After a while, he stops and holds his hand out. You stop as well, then look down the street. Crap. He leans over and whispers in a hushed voice that those three guys down the street were trying to mug him. Crap. You swallow and look to your apartment. It’s in the next street. You grab his wrist and walk swiftly across the street, telling him to act as affectionate with you as he can, then if they get close to get angry.

 

“What, why?” He asks, letting you lead him. You tell him that they’d probably think not to get involved if someone was beating up their boyfriend. Usually that kind of stuff worked. Zach nodded, then looked up to your apartment building and swallowed, “Please tell me you have locks.”

 

“In this neighbourhood? Ha, I have two. And a dog.” You chuckle, he looks behind him and slips his hand down to grip yours. You slow down and he slips his arm around yours to whisper in your ear. Jesus, you can feel his stubble already. The whole protecting someone who acts for a living has already paid off.

 

“They’re following us, but they haven’t crossed the street yet.” He said, then tilted your head towards his and kissed the corner of your mouth. If it weren’t for possibly armed and dangerous men behind you, you’d of froze or fainted or just died right there. But instead the situation called for a smile and cheeky peck back. Though you told him to be as affectionate as possible, it still comes as a shock and you try to regulate your breathing for a while. With the steps less than ten meters away, you look behind his shoulder and wrap your arm around his waist as well and start to walk up the steps. Behind both of you, footsteps get anxious and pull him up to the second floor then jam your key in the lock and click it.

 

Finally. Finally, you swing the door open just as the footsteps of what could have been your doom get to the middle step. Zach slips in after you, and you both sigh out of immense relief when the doors second lock slides into place.

 

“Fuck.” Zach says with an outburst of laughs. You turn and smile widely. Two hundred dollars for a second lock suddenly seems like the best investment of your life. And thank whatever pushed you to clean yesterday, because now there’s the actor of one of your favourite characters from AHS in the lounge room. And he’s laughing, then turning and looking around. Crap.

 

“You know what’s funny?” He asks, looking back to you with a grin. You shrug and hold up a can of soda which he takes, “Thanks. What’s funny is that I don’t know your name and I feel like I should have known you much earlier than this. Is that odd?”

 

“[Y/N].” You state, then uncap the bottle in your hand and sip at it, “That’s my name. And… well, maybe destiny changed course. I’m still getting over the fact that I could have been mugged without you.”

 

“Without me? Please. I’m way too much of a wimp to ever get into a fight, did you feel me tensing up?” He bunched up his shoulders and shivered, mocking himself. You laugh and shake your head.

 

“Very different to what you play lately, huh?” You ask, then walk past him and sit down on the couch. You pat the space beside you and he sits down, then looks into your eyes and raises his eyebrows at the suggestion.

 

“What, like Mister Spock?” He chuckles. The man chugs his soda, then sighs and leans his head against the back of the pillow, “I owe you the biggest coffee money can buy.” He murmured as he smirked.

 

 _Dear God,_ you think, _he’s offering to buy coffee now?_

 

“Well, I do like a lot of coffee. But not too expensive, Mr Movie Star. I feel guilty if anyone buys me things.” You say. He huffs and shakes his head, then gets out his phone from his back pocket and opens up his contacts. He tells you to repeat your number, and you do. He clicks it into the phone, then adds you to his contacts and promises to text you so you could get coffee.

 

Shit.


	2. Groped by Chris Pine [CP/OMC]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightclub. A tipsy you. One very touchy, curious Chris Pine. This is the second chapter in the Celeb/OMC fanfiction series I'm working on for all you gay guys(Or women who like gay fanfiction) out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris Pine. Ahh, he's beautiful. I wrote this while listening to him sing Any Moment from the Into The Woods soundtrack. Please listen to it, his voice is wonderful.

 You’re at a nightclub. Pulsing lights surround you, the music’s bass thrums its way to your chest and you’re only a little bit tipsy. With another hard drink though, you’ll be dancing without any thought of consequences. As usual, your friend has found someone much faster than anyone on the dancefloor and is dancing seductively. You though, you are at the bar. Drinking. What else is there to do in a nightclub?

 

Of course, you could dance. But you don’t feel your skills make the cut. Looking back to the crowd wooing the DJ makes you smile though, because even though you aren’t participating, it’s good to see so many people having fun. Plus, how funny are drunk people?

 

You feel him before you see him, hands on your hips that make you tense up and grasp the drink tightly. Crap. You turn and meet sunglasses, a slight stubble and a childish grin. Great, this guy is flirty, drunk, and attractive from what you can see. His breath doesn’t smell that fantastic, so you lean away as you speak, “And you are?” You ask.

 

Being still aware of your morals and conscious of who’s who helps to make your voice clear and firm, but the giddiness that comes with being tipsy has you looking him over. The man is fit, but not totally ripped. Nice. The stubble is a good touch, but the sunglasses inside a darkened nightclub? Uh-uh.

 

“Chris.” He murmurs, then holds up his hand to the passing bartender and gestures between you and him, “Two drinks, whatever this guy wants.” He says, looking back to you and grinning.

 

“Uh, no thanks.” You say. He is nice looking, but so was Ted Bundy, “I’m just here for a friend.”

 

“Oh,” Chris says, then takes off his sunglasses and hangs them on the neck of his grey shirt, “Are you sure you can’t drink just one? For me?”

 

Although you’re still a little wary of his boyish good looks and eagerness to please, his comment coupled with his eyes are too much. You roll your eyes and order two beers. Not too much more alcohol, and he seems fine with the order. Win-win. The drinks come and he cracks open his on the edge of the bar, then clinks them both together and steals the seat beside you, pulling it a little closer than a friend would.

 

Crap. This is awkward. You uncap the bottle and sip at it, reminding yourself not to leave the drink alone at any time. He doesn’t seem to be looking at the drink though. Out of the corner of your eye you see his gaze slip down. Crap. He looks back up and you try your best to look engrossed in the beer’s pretty label.

 

“You know, I don’t usually do this,” He slurred, then hiccupped and put an arm just above your waist. Crap, crap, crap. You look to him and frown to the hand but he doesn’t move. Then you shake off any bad thoughts. _You’re being paranoid,_ you think to yourself as you let a smile shine through, _just make conversation and if he crosses the line punch him in the nads._

 

“You don’t usually come here or come onto men?” You ask, then smirk devilishly as he shrugs and downs the beer. Wow, this guy can drink. Impressive, but also unnerving.

 

“Well, both.” Chris says, sliding his hand down a fraction, then a little more when he sees no bad reaction from you, “But you’re handsome and I’m drunk. Besides, it’s healthy to be curious right?”

 

You look back to the hand, then decide to let it stay there, just above your ass, and smile back to him, “It’s healthy enough, but if you’re looking for your first male lay, I suggest you get sober and go to a café. Or Grindr.”

 

He chuckles at that, then shakes his head. Well, thank god he isn’t looking for a lay then. Only to touch. Okay. You can work with this. His hand slips down to your ass, and you fight the urge to take in a breath. Chris smirks and bites his lip, then answers, “Nah, I’m saving myself for someone else.”

 

You frown at that. If he’s still conscious enough to remember that, then why is he touching so much? Huh. You chuckle and shake your head, then take a chance and put a hand on his knee. He responds by sliding a little closer and getting his body as close to yours as possible. His breath is hot on your neck, and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip at the feeling.

 

Then he asks you the worst question.

 

“Wanna dance?” He drawls as he winks at you, causing your cheekbones and ears to go red. You finish the beer with not too much trouble, then decide to go along with it. You nod, and he stands up with you.

 

Once you’re both out on the dance floor, he’s all over you. You don’t mind, and neither does he. The people around you are doing the same, and so no one is looking at your attempt at dancing and his ‘accidental’ stumbling that always has him closer to you. By the end of the song, he’s pressed up against you like glue, and your hands and just around his neck. He kissed your nape, then chuckles as you swallow nervously, “You can tell me to stop, you know?”

 

“I know.” You murmur, then smile to him as he takes in deep breaths of air. You lean against the metal railing dividing the bar and dance floor. He does the same, one hand still firmly on your ass while the other holds the railing with you pinned in-between the two.

 

“Do you recognize me?” He suddenly asks. You frown and push away the buzz as much as possible, then take a good look at him. You groan as you think, then shake your head and lean against his chest. He chuckles warmly, then shakes his head, “I’m glad you’re doing this for me, not Jim Kirk.”

 

At first, the comment perplexes you. But then you look at him again and widen your eyes. He smiles as you realize and look down to his hand. Oh god. Chris Pine. He nods, as though he could read your mind all along, and shrugs.

 

Suddenly, you find yourself loving the nightclub scene. You chuckle along with him and shake your head, “If you think this will improve your chances at getting me into bed you are sorely mistaken, Mister Pine.”

 

He rolls his eyes and fakes disappointment poorly, then laughs and places his spare hand on your ass as well, pushing you further against the metal railing. In response, you wrap your arms lazily around his neck and simply stare at him. He stares back, then breaks into an adorable grin and slurs his speech a little, “Can I have your number?”


	3. Snogging Benedict Cumberbatch (BC/OMC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as it says in the title. Now, for purposes of me not looking like a home wrecker, this is set in-between his two amazing girlfriends (one whom is now his wife awww so cute). Also set at a mock F1 racing circuit, y'know like one for kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know the dork in this fan-fiction. I don't make money from these either.
> 
> Obviously.
> 
> Oh, and I finished this at 2am so forgive me if you read this before I come back to it and fix anything.

The circuit track for kids was the last place you’d want to be for a birthday, but nonetheless your little niece wanted to have cars all around her, so here you are. All the loud noise, greasy food and absence of any good drinks are getting to you. You’re irritable, so when an unfamiliar hand clamps down on your shoulder as you get your first bit of peace in two hours, you last out.

 

“What? I told you I’d be there in a minute!” You raise your voice then regret it as soon as you see that the person you’ve yelled at isn’t your sister, or anyone else you know. It’s a man, and he looks happy. You close your eyes for a second, then open them back up and force a smile.

 

“Sorry to bother you, but do you mind if I sit here. No available tables, see.” He says in a soft, deep voice. You huff and wave to it. He can sit wherever the bloody hell he wants, a day this hot has you accepting anything from someone with the prerequisite of being able to shut their trap. He sits down and places his cold water on the hot pink table. You see the man looking at the birthday cards, then turning a lone candle over in his fingers.

 

“My niece.” You say. The man looks up suddenly and smiles. He puts down the candle and sips at the drink.

 

“I assume she’s on the track?” He asks, you nod and point out the red car as it zooms by and hurts your head with its screeching tires as it rounds the corner and is out of sight. The man, who you notice has rather expensive clothes on that hardly match, speaks again, “Always wanted kids. I came here for my Nephew. Should be here in an hour or so.”

 

“Maybe he and my niece will get along. She’s a car nut. Me, not so much. Too feminine, they say.” You chuckle, and so does he. Taking the time and willpower to be considerate, you put out your hand for him to shake. He does, with a firm grip as he introduces himself.

 

“Benedict,” He says, then looks to you in the most peculiar way. You smile and say your name, which makes him smile brightly and gesture with his head to the bleachers, “Want to go sit over there? I’ll shout you an ice water.”

 

You huff, then agree and he seems excited. Doesn’t this guy ever get out? With a new ice water in hand, you and Benedict make your way to the bleachers where you sit close to him and watch the cars shoot by. Up the back it isn’t so bad, and with this guy it’s less so. He’s cute, but not stereotypically so. In the midst of watching him, Benedict catches you and tilts his head.

 

“Checking me out?” He asks. You huff and look to the track, suddenly too immersed in the cars to respond. You hear him chuckle and shift in his seat, but looking back to him now would be too risky. The hand on your shoulder appears again, but this time you don’t jump as he speaks, “You know, I get the strangest feeling that you’re avoiding looking at me. Is it because of my dashing good looks?”

 

You turn to reply, but before you can you see the ridiculous face he’s pulling and so you laugh out loud at the absurdity. He joins in too, and before you both know it you’re looking back to each other and he’s tilting his head again. You look down to his lips, and he looks down to yours then shakes his head and leans forward with the hand still on your shoulder.

 

Jesus. You think for the few milliseconds it takes for his lips to connect to yours about who will see this, you kissing a random stranger while you should be down there driving one of those silly little cars. When the two of you connect, you wrap your arms around his shoulders loosely and he huffs in response. He disconnects his lips from yours and smirks, then tilts his head to the other side and pecks your lips briefly before he whispers.  
  
“Cumberbatch. Benedict Cumberbatch, that’s my full name.” He says. You smile widely and nod, then kiss him again, longer and deeper than before. When you both need air, you tell him your name as he tilts your face up with a hand to your chin.

 

“I know.” You say. He looks up. You roll your eyes and slide a thumb over his right cheekbone, “You think I’d kiss just anyone?”

 

“Your standards must be low, to want to kiss me.” He says, then goes in for another which you gladly accept, he starts to chuckle and breaks away, “Sorry. It’s not you it’s just… we’re not drunk at all, this is like something from a pornography site.”

 

You laugh and lean your head back, he holds your hips and grins. You both look to each other again for a few seconds. He hums a tune, then touches your nose and flips out a card, “I’m supposed to only give these cards out to people who ask for them. But… I want you to have this.” He writes on the card with a pen from his jacket pocket, then places it in your shirt pocket and pats your chest, “There. I noticed my Nephew coming in, and your niece in the red car just got out. Text me your name when you get home.”

 

With that, you say your goodbyes and the guests from your Nieces party eventually ask all sorts of questions about who it was you were snogging. You shrug on the way back home and pull out your phone, then text the number and look up as the question is asked again.

 

“Just some dork waiting for his Nephew. Nothing special.”


End file.
